Daring To Believe
by Tia-Pixie
Summary: A series of 3rd person introspections from various characters mainly Will, John, Fanny & Robin from before the film to just after it. Difficult one to summarise, you'll just have to read it. HIATUS
1. Will & John 1192

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_**Disclaimer: Robin Hood POT is not mine. Shocker right?**_

**A/N: Okay so, I've decided to try to write a fic for every category that I read and I LOVE this film. It is mainly going to be a brother fic between Will & Robin (sort of) but with parts from other points of view i.e. John etc. I think it's a lot wordier than I normally do and yet the word count is lower….huh. Anyway, please review because although I'm sure I'LL enjoy reading/writing it, it would be good to know that other people are reading too. It's going to from sort of pre-film (here) to maybe just after it but probably only if I get some reviews because otherwise I'll maybe just start a different fic in another fandom. Err…oh yeah, I absolutely adore Will Scarlett in this (Christian Slater crying? – Hell, yes!) So I'm sorry if he seems the main character despite parts being from other POVs. Anyway, yeah, please review and I've taken certain liberties with his past; although according to the legends, Will Scarlett really WAS a locksmith (see I've actually researched this one!)**

**So yeah… da da!**

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He couldn't recall exactly when it started. This burning hatred of the man whom he should call 'brother'. It would be simple to say it started the day his father had abandoned his mother, labelled her a whore and cast her out of his bed. Simple, but not true. He had been but a few months old, had no memory of it and therefore no feeling from the time. It must have started somewhere between his fifth and tenth year he supposed, when he was old enough to understand what it was that Locksley and his other son had done to them exactly. He couldn't be certain, after all his memory of the years was fuzzy – it was a lifetime ago and many _many _drunken brawls and nights of too much mead had passed between the boy he was then and the embittered man he was now.

But, at some point in his life, Will Scarlett had learned to despise Locksley, his precious son and every other greedy, self-righteous nobleman in existence. There were, he conceded a few select families whom he could recognise as the exception to the rule – for instance the Du Bois family, whose daughter had given alms every Sunday at church and sent bread to his mother when she had taken ill. He also knew that bigotry and cruelty were not exclusively reserved for those with titles and lands – it had not been one of them who had torn off his mother's clothing in front of him and made her beg for death before he was done with her. Nor was it a nobleman who refused to buy or sell anything to her, not even to save her young son's life. He had grown up in that world, with those people and he could not hate them; not while he knew how they suffered at the hands of their Lords. One by one, the people he had called 'friend' or at least 'neighbour' were being driven out by the Sheriff's men for want of a few pennies whilst their Squires sat in castles, surrounded by gold and treasures that were unimaginable to him. It wasn't however, until Fanny Little's husband, John, had finally succumbed to the threat of imprisonment or worse and had fled to the sanctuary of Sherwood Forest that Will knew he had never felt a hatred more true or passionate than that which he felt for the Squires who sat by and did nothing.

His hatred for his father and the House of Locksley had, in truth, paled in comparison with the murderous anger he now felt towards the nobles. Day by day, he watched Fanny and others like her struggle to get by, relying on what little they could earn and the alms given on Sundays. His trade, while not being perhaps the most useful of trades, had at least taught him the importance of two things: how much gold his 'betters' had; and how far they would go to keep it. Being a locksmith, he knew every padlock but more importantly: how to break it. And neither he, nor anyone else in his home village could deny that this had proven to be a vital skill. It didn't happen often, but on the occasion when someone would enter the town in a carriage, it was all too easy that one box should 'fall' from the back of it as it left and if the box should be assisted in its fall by someone then who would tell? After that it was only a case of Will spending but a few moments to break its lock with his knife and every household would be safe from eviction or prosecution for another few months.

But of course, money could only do so much. After all, if there was no food (the past few years' harvests had been very bad indeed) and there were only so many cattle that could be spared for meat then what use was having the money to pay for it? And of course he had realised when they had started that it was only a matter of time before he and Bull (and occasionally Wulf Little who was barely ten years old at the time) were caught. Poaching was not looked upon kindly by the Sheriff and it was not long before Fanny had started threatening bodily harm on him if he continued to let Wulf tag along on such dangerous outings. She had said very often that she wished he would not go either but of course she had no control of his actions no matter how many times she patched him up after a run-in with the Sherriff's men.

And so, when he finally stood staring in horror as the group of horses leapt the low stone wall to Gisbourne's furious cries of "GET HIM!" Will Scarlett, who had never fled a fight in his life did the only thing he could do, the thing that he knew he would always have to do.

He ran.

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John Little was not a betting man (with so little to lose and little to gain from those around you, what would be the point?) but when he first heard his men yelling the all clear after a 'stranger' had been spotted in the forest, he would have placed good money on it being Much. Of all the men, young and old, that he had expected to see stumble exhausted and heartbroken into their camp next, he had not expected the stalwart Bull and even less so, young Will Scarlett. So it was with a heavy heart that he welcomed the two of them into their new home – if Will Scarlett, who could run faster and lie better than any boy he had ever known could not escape the wrath of the Sheriff or his rat-faced cousin then he could see little hope for those that remained in their hometown.

It was unfortunate, he supposed, that while Bull was well-liked for his crude jokes and easy manner, Will's bitterness made him quick to anger and he had _never_ run from a fight meaning that while he would be useful in combat, his chances of fitting in with the ragtag bunch of jovial men would be slim at best.

After the initial interrogation about why they had fled was over, the other men began asking after their wives and children and John could scarcely admit himself less eager. He had mixed feelings on hearing Wulf's ventures; to know his son was trying to look after his mother and siblings filled him with pride; to know that without Will and Bull he would be doing it alone terrified him.

John knew now that it wouldn't be long before every family in their village had lost someone to the Sheriff, whether because they had fled to the woods or because they had been caught, their numbers were dwindling and there was no end in sight. Even when King Richard returned, John could not feel optimistic that things would change after all, the taxes were to pay for _his _war, not theirs yet still they were expected to pay. There was nothing to be done; the time for waiting in the woods for things to get better was over. Back in the towns, their families were starving with no money. It was time that the 'ghosts' of Sherwood Forest started claiming their own _taxes_ – the sort of money that noblemen carried on their person would be enough to feed their village for a week at least. It was going to be…dangerous – it would mean revealing themselves to passers through – but it was the only choice they had.


	2. Robin 1194

_**Disclaimer: Robin Hood POT is not mine and I make no money off my writing.**_

**A/N: Right, so I might have taken a ****slight**** liberty with the whole '**_**Will Scarlett was a locksmith'**_** thing as was pointed out to me by ****chaoticmom. It is never stated that he was a locksmith but the most commonly accepted surname of his (Scathelocke) means 'lock-****breake****r' and while yes I admit it indicates he was most likely a ****thief**** rather than a locksmith, it made sense to me that he could be ****both****…so he is.**

**This one is just Robin's POV and as stated in the title, it's a sort of prologue for him in that it's before he meets John and Will etc. and once I start writing the story a bit more, there will be dialogue in it as well so it will be a different style. **

**Thank you to **_**Chaoticmom**_** who probably wasn't expecting me to reply to her review, let alone twice and who now can't seem to shake me off ;) **

**Please R&R again (if you have done so for**** the first part!) or for the first time if not. I love getting them and since I realise that it's quite an old film now really, I'm not sure how many people will actually read this.**

It seemed so long ago since he had seen his home now, these five years having been the worst of his life. He had been far too young, when he left England to appreciate how homesick he would soon become. A young man, full of anger, he had jumped at the chance of escaping his father's house in favour of foreign lands (and women) and adventures. The fact that his father had almost begged him not to go had only increased its attraction and now he and Peter would likely never see their homeland again. He would never see his father again.

It was strange too, how he found himself praying for wind – it didn't have to be the gusting, storms that he remembered in Locksley, just _some breeze!_ He sat, suffocating in the heat and stench of the dungeons and wondered who would tell his father of his death. Who, for that matter would tell Marian of Peter's? He was all the family she had left aside from the King. Not for the first time, Robin wondered whether all this death would be for nothing, whether the King himself would not return to England's shores. He cursed himself again for allowing Peter to swept up into what had, at best, been his petty one in a long line of acts for getting back at his father for a 'crime' committed nearly twenty years earlier. He knew now that he would give anything, _anything_ to be back in Locksley, to see his father's face again or to hear Peter's sister rage at him for their childish tricks against her.

Peter would never leave Jerusalem. Robin knew that from the way his friend leant his body against him, too exhausted and weak to do anything else. To have come here to fight for their King and to die here, in the sweltering pit of disease and infection for something as worthless as bread was heart-breaking. It was one thing to die in the name of their God and King, quite another to be left to die from infection for fighting a man who tried to steal from them. He knew the man would lie; that he would claim innocence. Robin also knew that it would make no difference and that regardless of whether their jailors believed them or the other man, Peter was going to die in this hellhole unless Robin got them out. At least then he could die a free man.

In truth, it happened too fast for him to comprehend. He was almost unaware of his actions as the sword sliced through his jailor's arm rather than his own; he only knew that he had to act fast. The man would most likely die from infection or from a knife in the gut from one of his superiors but Robin did not have time to pity him. He was vaguely disturbed that he found he _couldn't_ pity him. Two years in this arid city had taught him the value of a human life, the value of empathy and yet he couldn't pity this man who (to his dubious credit) who had not treated him differently because he was English. The blood of an Arab and that of an English nobleman were the same, their screams just as loud, their deaths just as satisfying to this man. He had no mercy so why should he be shown it? The man would die, another death would be on his hands and Robin wondered if his god would show him the mercy that he had not shown them.

As Peter's last breath left him, Robin wondered if his own God would show _him _the mercy he had not shown others, whether Peter's death weighed as heavily on his soul as it did on his conscience.

Landing at Dover, in the middle of winter and running the last ten feet to the shore was, in retrospect, an unwise thing to have done, Robin reflected. After his initial "I am home!" he began to realise just why the heat of Jerusalem had been so hard to adjust to. Now, he was wet, tired, grieving and _cold!_ Although he had been genuinely surprised that Azeem refused to return to his own land, he couldn't deny he was grateful for the company – even if he was Moor. Five and a half years away from home had made him forget how bitterly cold it could be and he had a long journey and many days ahead of him before he could rest in his own bed once more. Thankfully, it was still early morning and they had at least ten hours of daylight ahead of them. As much as he took a boyish glee in everything he beheld in his beloved England, Azeem seemed to be simultaneously terrified, angry and curious at everything he came across. The weather in particular seemed to rile him and Robin took great pleasure in seeing the calm and reserved Moor curse his country and everything in it. The journey was long but he could hardly imagine it would be unentertaining, given the company he was in.

**A/N: I apologise for how short this one was, but since the next part is going to be a slightly different style, it made sense to stop it there. Tia x**


	3. Fanny 1184

_**Disclaimer: It's not mine.**_

**A/N: This sort of came out of nowhere, I was meaning to get with the story of the film – I really was! But then this happened. It doesn't sound like Fanny's way of talking but then it is third person so hopefully that's okay. I know we know nothing really about Will's mother or his and Fanny's relationship but I always like to think she might have been around when his mother died. Also, if you're interested in knowing, I tend to think of Wulf being about 7 or 8 years younger than Will and I think of Wulf being about 12 in the film so I guess that means I make Will around 20 and Robin around 32 (which doesn't make sense in my head cos I think of him as older than that but the right age for Will and since he is only 12 years younger…) Anyway, this is set in the past, and I guess I make Will about 10 and Wulf about 2 or 3.**

**Please read and review, because look at me. Two updates in one night! Got a splitting headache now and got a 9am lecture so I'm off now. But a review would be nice **

It was not unheard of for a child to be born out of wedlock. In fact, her lad Wulf had very nearly been a bastard and so although many people might frown on the poor woman, Fanny Little couldn't help but feel sympathetic to Anne Scarlett and her little lad, William. This was why, while she should have been at home sleeping and thanking the stars that Wulf and his infant sister were finally asleep, Fanny found herself mopping Anne's forehead and trying to calm her through her fever. The poor woman tossed her head and cried out for her son in her sleep and sometimes shook so violently that Fanny was sure it would be the end of her. Anne Scarlett was barely older than she herself but a life of cruelty and rejection had driven the woman to madness and now, after one of the harshest winters in memory, she had succumbed to a fever. Fanny knew she would die perhaps before the night was even out, anyone in the village who knew or cared that she was sick knew that she would die; even Anne in her rare moments of lucidity, seemed to know she would die. But her son, the bedraggled, half-starved little boy who had knocked on the Little's door that night and begged her to come could have no idea that while he slept, his mother was fighting a losing battle against the virus that was consuming her.

As Anne gave a particularly pained "Will!" Fanny found herself thinking of her own son, Wulf. It would not be so long until he would be Will's age, she shuddered at the thought of her boy having to make it on his own without her or John at such an age. Will would be forced to find a position or else he would starve; she would help if she could but she had her own family to feed and clothe and then there was rent to pay and taxes. How Anne had managed to keep her home all these years with no husband and a young son to feed she would never know. Lord Locksley was a fair landlord but she doubted he would wait forever for rent from a whore and her son when he could just as easily find new tenants. She wondered if there was any truth in Anne's ramblings about her 'husband' who was a rich man and who would come for her and for William just as soon as he could. Perhaps this 'rich man' was paying their rent? She doubted it though; Anne could sit for days, talking to herself and singing, starving herself before she would come out of it and resemble the woman she had been before the child was born.

William seemed a good enough lad, fiercely protective of his mother certainly – she had patched him up after a fair few thrashings from boys twice his size after they had insulted his mother – but she worried for him. If he were any other boy in the village, any man would gladly take him in, teach him a trade so that he could support himself in a few years when he was old enough but everyone knew that Anne Scarlett was (or had been) a whore who would lie with anyone that could pay her and people were not forgiving of such promiscuity, that and her descent into lunacy led to them both being shunned by many people and Fanny found it hard to think of any who might take in the bastard of Anne Scarlett and some equally sinful man. The boy would, she supposed, be forced to leave and find someone in another village to take him in. Not for the first time, she wondered if the others in the town could be mistaken. Certainly, Anne had birthed a child but no man had ever admitted to having bedded her, nor could anyone recall his doing so during the year of the child's birth. Anne had been working as a servant to Lord Locksley at the time, and Fanny suspected there must have been a man there. It did not seem reason enough to assume her to be what they all called her though.

Anne moaned and her glazed eyes opened as she reached out a hand to some phantom, smiling. Fanny wondered if she should fetch William from her own home where she had ordered him stay when he told her about his mother's condition. If Anne was going to die, she should surely see her son first?

Fanny was somehow unsurprised when she felt the small, wet face press into her shoulder at dawn the next day. He looked simultaneously much older and younger than his ten years, furious and heartbroken, determined but weak with hunger, confused yet accepting. As she watched him furiously beat his seemingly tiny fists against her enormous husband's chest (apparently John had stopped him coming sooner), she worried for the angry, embittered man he might become – picking fights with people much bigger than he was was already beginning to be a habit. She doubted he would last much longer in this world before following his mother into an early grave.

**A/N: So yeah…I know I said it was going to be a different style but as I started writing it, it just sort of turned into this….not sure how. Anyway, review? Please, the button is right there.**


	4. John, Robin & Will 1194

_**Disclaimer: Robin Hood POT is not mine and I make no money off my writing.**_

**A/N: Yes, my dear reader's (all ten of you), I lied to you again. I'm afraid I've decided to continue with this style of writing for this story. I may well write another RH story that will truly centre on Will & Robin but for some reason, now I've started with the big long POVs, I can't stop. So this is now an exercise in form/style for me. If/when I do another story, it will be more like others on my profile i.e. more dialogue rather than just thought processes. **

**This chapter might seem to jump around a bit but it basically goes from John's POV pre-movie to **_**just**_** before it, Robin's is during the movie and Will's is during the movie but they all kind of slot in together vaguely chronologically. It's never stated how long the 'men of the woods' have been out there or how long Wulf has had a price on his little head but I've made it nearly a year when Robin meets them since Wulf had to run.**** Like I said in a previous chapter, I really don't think of Will as being that much older than Wulf so I imagined they might've been pretty close before Robin came along (*shakes fist*). Err, apologies for how short Robin's section is, for some reason, I find it incredibly hard to write him. Also, I think John is maybe a little OOC but I'd like to think he notices more than he seems to and that since I've made it seem that Fanny had quite a bit to do with Will while he was growing up, then John and Wulf probably did too.**

**Anyway, on with the story, as always read and review. Critics are just as welcome as praise!**

**PS. Have you noticed my author's notes are getting longer? :/**

Wulf had lasted longer than any of them had expected. In truth, John had expected him to join them in the woods within the month or else that he would hear from someone else that his boy was charged with poaching or theft. Selfishly, he couldn't suppress the grin that spread across his face on seeing his son; it had truly been too long!

"FATHER!" His son's voice rent the air as he swept him up in his arms. He was relieved to find that although thin and scratched, Wulf remained relatively unscathed from his most recent run-in with Gisbourne and his men. A small crowd had gathered around them now, men whose children were Wulf's playmates and although they were all reeling from his arrival, John knew that they were all secretly relieved that it was his son who now had a price on his head rather than theirs. He couldn't blame them, Wulf had lasted nearly a year after Will's departure before being forced into their midst and between Will's arrival and Wulf's John had been overjoyed every time a new member that wasn't his son had joined their little gang.

They ate and drank around the fire while Wulf told them about life back in their hometown but there came a stunned silence when he informed them of Lord Locksley's death and uproar when they heard what reason had been given for his 'execution'. He may not have been sympathetic when they couldn't pay rent but no one would ever have suspected that of him – the fact that rumours were afoot of the Sheriff having been involved called into question among them whether Locksley's 'devil worship' was true. John was surprised to find that of all of them, Will Scarlett seemed most affected.

"_Devil worship?"_ He had exclaimed in an oddly tight voice. _"And he's dead? You're sure?"_ Wulf had nodded and Will had seemed…troubled for the rest of the night which was odd since his hatred for nobility was common knowledge. John wouldn't have noticed except that on a night when they would _all _have usually drunk a lot and talked women, the young man drank _so _much that he passed out before they had even finished eating. He still didn't stir when the fire burned down and everyone gradually left for their makeshift homes. John left him where he lay and hoped that Fanny would not find out he had done so.

John and the others did not mourn Locksley's death, after all why should they concern themselves over Locksley's troubles? It did disturb him though to hear that seemingly nobody was safe from the Sheriff and his faithful followers.

It pleased John to see how quickly Wulf adapted to life in the woods. It was a hard life despite what he might say to the contrary, but out in the middle of Sherwood Forest with the 'ghosts', they were protected from most intruders and never saw any of the Sheriff's men so although hard, it was a lot less dangerous for them out here. But, gradually they had all adapted and lived more or less the same way each day. Two men each day would go out hunting whilst Will, John and some of the others would stay behind to guard the camp and occasionally, some nobleman or traveller would wander to the river and be forced to pay their 'taxes'. Wulf would hang around the camp or trail along after one of the men, most recently, John noticed, Wulf seemed to be permanently in Will's shadow – much to Will's feigned annoyance. And John was certain it _was _feigned because had it not been, Wulf would have subject to the same mood swings that the other men had to endure from young Scarlett. The longer he was with them though, the more Wulf seemed to tire of them and go out alone, returning with rabbits or occasionally to tell the others the whereabouts of a deer he had killed (many were too large for him to do anything with). It worried John because one day, Gisbourne or the Sheriff would inspire enough fear in their men to have them follow him into the woods – straight into their camp. But for now, Wulf was small enough to often go unnoticed and could run and climb quick enough to stay safe for the most part. His absence that day did not bother John; the boy was most likely hunting again and would return none the worse later.

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To say it bothered him to have been beaten by a woman, was like saying that Jerusalem had been warm. When he and Peter had left, Marian had been just like every other Lord's daughter he knew: decked in jewellery and pretty gowns, no more able to wield a sword than he was to sew a tapestry so it had been a shock to have seen her so. It had grieved him to have to tell her of her brother's death but mostly, he found, because he knew how much it would hurt her. His own grief over Peter Du Bois' death was virtually non-existent now after weeks of travelling to get back to his home and his father and his grief over his father by far outweighed whatever he felt for Peter.

He did not believe the rumours. His father was _not_ a devil worshipper – he was one of the most devout men Robin knew. The thought that people all over England would have heard news of it pained him greatly but it eased his heart to know that Marian, for all her ill-feelings towards Robin, did not believe a word against his father. It pained him further to have to leave her so soon after telling her of her brother's demise but he had to leave before Gisbourne arrived. He was grateful to her for…he wasn't certain why, after all she was the one who alerted Gisbourne to his presence but he supposed he might never have left her side if she had not (and he would be lying if he said his only reason for it would have been his promise to her brother). Before leaving however, he couldn't resist doing what he had done to so many women before her – after all, he was but a man and she truly had grown into a fine looking young woman.

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Will Scarlett prided himself on being a royal git who was, for the most part, generally unpleasant to be around. It wasn't that he didn't care for the people around him, he just saw no reason why they should know it and since many of the older men looked down on him anyway, he saw no reason why he should be any more than civil to most of them. There were of course a few exceptions with whom he made genuine effort, namely John (because John was an awful lot bigger than he was and because Fanny once boxed his ears for trying to pick a fight with John) and Wulf who - despite his best efforts in the beginning to make him _go away_ - for some unknown reason had always followed him around ever since he arrived in the forest Perhaps it was because Will was closest in age to him or simply because he enjoyed that Will did not treat him like a child as much as his father did. Mainly though, he tried to be civil and control his temper since he had quickly found that although he was faster and younger than many of these men, they were bigger and usually much stronger. Difficult as it was, he could not deny he enjoyed the camaraderie that resulted when he and the other men were not attempting to knock ten bells out of each other since he had never had more than one or two friends due to his mother and the circumstances of his birth.

His time since joining the 'Men of the Woods' as John had dubbed them was in all honesty the best days of his life and he took a considerable amount of satisfaction every time he tripped another nobleman into the water with his rope. The fact that one day, Lord Locksley's prodigal son might return and occasionally wish to venture into the woods that bordered his and the DuBois' land had never entered his mind. Whatever sadistic glee he had taken in seeing John best him (twice!) and though he would not admit it in seeing John be beaten just once as well, fled his mind the wake of burning hatred. That Locksley – he refused to call him 'brother' – had dared to try to persuade them of his poverty when he had two servants with him while he, Will, starved in the woodlands infuriated him, reigniting what had been somewhat quenched in his disappointment over his father's death. He found himself wishing that John really had drowned Locksley when he knocked him into the water the second time.

That _Locksley_ was there at all, interrupting what had been the closest thing to a family to Will, incensed him; the fact that not only Wulf but John and all the others seemed to have flocked to him angered him further and he was more than a little hurt by John's flippant remark to _"Take no notice of him."_ He had meant what he said though, Locksley, for all his talk of being an outlaw, was _nothing_ like him. Will found himself growing angrier by the second. Why should Locksley come in and lord it over them simply because he beat John in a fight? Why should Locksley's opinion of what they should do matter so much more than his? John was right, any attempt to fight back and every one of them would either be killed or caught. Whatever Locksley said, Will could not understand why he should want to help, then again, Locksley had nothing to lose. What was it to Locksley if they should all die? It wasn't his family that would starve, or be evicted from their homes.

He dashed furious tears from his eyes as he looked at his reflection in the dark eddying river. Christ, he even looked like him! The thought that he in any way resembled his father or Locksley made him more furious and more bitter than he could describe. Well, bugger Locksley! He threw a stone into the pale face looking back at him, scowling up at the roar of laughter coming from the campfire. And bugger John and Wulf and all the other fools who'd fall into line behind him.

It wasn't unusual for him to have stormed away from the other men to calm down. The men were used to it now, after all he would usually return within an hour to the amused and taunting glances of John Little (_'Little John'_, he felt his lips twitch). Usually, Wulf would come looking for him but not tonight. Tonight all anyone was interested in was _Locksley_ and all his _plans_.

He allowed himself slightly more than an hour to wallow in his bitterness and anger before returning to the now only glowing embers of the campfire. He hadn't forgiven John his insult, but it was the middle of winter and God he was cold away from the fire. Nobody had even bothered to look up as he returned, preferring to listen to one of the Rich Boy's tales. He threw another log onto the fire and glowered at it before reaching his hands out to warm them, jumping as Wulf shifted in his sleep and one arm fell to brush Will's head. Glancing at the boy's precarious position in the tree, Will now lifted his gaze to John whose blue eyes twinkled teasingly at him. His scowl deepened and he left the circle of firelight, retreating to the safety of 'his' tree. Being in almost complete darkness, he could observe them as he had done earlier without being noticed. He set his jaw and gazed unseeingly as Locksley's monologue turned to the death of Lady Locksley – how dare he speak of _his_ grief, _his _familywhen _he_ was the only reason Will's family was ripped apart? Paralysed by fury, his mind wandered.

Locksley had killed at least three of the Sheriff's men. He had done it to protect Wulf (supposedly); whom he had never met and who, for all Locksley knew might have deserved whatever he got. He stole another glance at the group, Wulf had woken from his doze and now gazed adoringly at Locksley, and most of the other men were doing the same. John's teasing gaze met his and he cocked his eyebrow arrogantly, John's gaze hardened and dropped back to Locksley. He did not look up again.

"Bugger."


	5. Robin & Wulf 1194

_**Disclaimer: Events and characters (as they are in this adaptation) do not belong to me and do in fact belong to someone with significantly more money. Shocking I know.**_

**A/N: A million apologies for the massive break in chapters, I lost my inspiration for quite some time and it's only sort of returned. Ironically, a 7 hour train journey with a laptop and nothing better to do than force myself to write this may have actually reawakened my inspiration so watch this space, I'm hoping to have another little bit up over the next week or so. I'm not absolutely happy with this chapter, for one thing, I've discovered that I hate writing Robin because he always ends up being such a nasty person when I do (imo anyway) but I'd love to hear anyone's thoughts on him in this. I hope he doesn't seem OOC and hopefully the vocab sounds a bit more like him because he is a Lord after all, he's gonna have pretty good vocab etc. and a pretty sophisticated (I think) view on things.**

**The other bit (and I hope it was obvious) was Wulf's POV. Again, not sure how I felt about it. I've posted it because I'm not **_**unhappy**_** with it but I do think that maybe he comes across as younger than he does in the film…not sure. I would love feedback for both of them because I'd never written as Wulf before and it is by far the most I've written for Robin and it's a pretty important scene. Also, I know I'm sort of changing the relationship Wulf and Will have in the movie but I'm not actually changing the events, if it really bothers anyone then feel free to view my stories as AU.**

Waking up in the frigid English woodlands when in your childhood you had been used to beds with feather pillows was unpleasant to say the least. Robin could not deny that he would have welcomed the blasting heat of Jerusalem over the wet frostiness of England in autumn at that moment. He had been sleeping out of doors for a fortnight on his way home but at least before today, he had not woken with a pain that threatened to split his head in two and a coldness that tempted him to surrender himself to the blackness.

Robin sat up slowly, shielding his eyes against the midday sun. He and the other men had stayed up talking (and drinking) late into the night, celebrating what would be the first of many acts against the sheriff. Contrary to John's fears, there had so far been no repercussions of Robin's actions at the church and for that, they were all grateful. Robin's initial plan had been to go there and petition the bishop – that the sheriff had interrupted the meeting had come as both a welcome opportunity and an unwelcome shock. He had ruefully found himself silently agreeing with John and Will that he had caused unnecessary havoc that day; cutting the sheriff had been an impetuous and childish act that could so easily have led to Nottingham's taking revenge on the innocent peasants around Nottingham. He thanked God that so far, they had heard nothing from the nearby towns that suggested anything had happened.

He smiled gratefully at Wulf who approached him cautiously with a flask of water. Robin wondered at the boy, he seemed to be alternately afraid and devoted to him, he wondered whether it was because of his 'walloping' the sheriff's men or because of his family's status. Others, he reflected, were neither so welcoming nor ambiguous in their feelings towards him, Will Scarlett had made it clear from the first night that he for one, did not welcome Robin in their camp. In fact, with his snide remarks, burning glares and mutinous whisperings, Scarlett had made himself quite a nuisance; it was fortunate, Robin reflected, that so few of the men seemed to listen to what Scarlett had to say. He sat for a moment watching the men milling around their camp, some clearly suffering the same consequences as him and in the distance, he could clearly see Azeem kneeling towards what he clearly thought was east.

He rose and staggered wearily towards the fire in search of food before heading down to the river for more water.

It was some three hours later when one of the other men came running into the camp reporting that he had seen the large group heading towards their camp. Robin sat with his companion, each polishing his weapon of choice and upon hearing the commotion, decided to remain as far into the background as he could. Robin preferred not to think of why such a group would be making their way there though he had a terrible gut feeling that he already knew – he had never recalled wanting to slink into the background so much in all his life but he held his ground.

The overwhelming guilt and fury that boiled in his stomach was quickly masked by indifference and rationality – the soldier in him overtaking his emotions. His gaze took in the state of the people: bloodied, weary and, underneath their relief at reunion with their kin, quite terrified. He found his guilt redoubled at the sight of so many children obviously caught up in the brutality, not least because of the murderous look being fired at him by Scarlett and the others.

"You brought this misery on us, Locksley!" He may have agreed with Scarlett a little but Nottingham was trying to turn the people against Robin and he said as much, although not him specifically. Scarlett's comments were however, more true than Robin liked to admit. But somebody had to take charge of the rabble of men who rolled around in the dirt of the forest like beasts! What good were John and the others to their families while they were hiding in woods like animals? And how dare that _boy_ criticize him for taking action against the man who drove their people to this life, and who murdered his father! 'Lord of the manor'? Maybe he was, but he was a leader! And somebody had to lead them; John could only do so much. A resistance was not resistance unless their enemy knew it was happening!

Robin listened while Scarlett roused the newcomers to turn him in to the Sherriff, 500 gold pieces was probably a lot to these people but after the slight he had made upon the Sherriff, he couldn't deny that he was a little surprised at how little the price had gone up. Robin listened patiently to Scarlett's ranting, he couldn't help but feel hurt when several of the 'Men of the Woods' joined in the murmurs of agreement – so much for being one of them. Despite his hurt feelings though, Robin was incredulous. Their _pardons_? How on Earth could Scarlett and the others truly believe that once they turned him in, the Sherriff would forget all about their own crimes? How could anyone be so foolish? They'd be lucky if they even made it out of Nottingham before he had them strung up. A certain war-hardened part of him could not help but imagine how much easier it might be to lead these people if Scarlett happened to be caught and hanged himself. This thought was extinguished by his shame almost at once for having thought such a thing – the young man clearly disliked him though he'd no idea why, and his comments hurt Robin's pride certainly, but to wish death upon a man whom he barely knew was despicable! Perhaps at one time, when he was the privileged, arrogant young man he had been before the Crusades Robin would not have thought it wrong of him, but he had seen too much death in the past years to feel anything but guilt and sadness over the death of any Englishman. Even the increasingly more likely and necessary death of the Sherriff whom he hated so passionately, made him feel hollow inside – the man was evil, of that he was quite certain but he himself had sinned many times, what right had he to decide whether the man lived or died?

Honestly, he hadn't imagined training an army from the rabble of men he lived with but Scarlett's comments had unwittingly started an idea in his mind. As for their lack of weaponry, Robin had seen men on both sides; kill with their bare hands men who came at them with swords so that was hardly essential. Honestly, Robin had no idea where his next comment came from. For a start, he did not believe it. Scarlett was clearly cautious when it came to the Sherriff but the desire to stay alive and uninjured for as long as possible hardly made him a coward. The rage that crossed the young man's face as he said it did admittedly fill him with a sense of sadistic pleasure – to humiliate and belittle the man thus after Scarlett had so often done the same to him did feel good.

Scarlett's next move, while understandable even to Robin (or perhaps only to Robin) was most likely intended to have completely the opposite effect to the one it had. The part of Robin that was still that impetuous 'Rich Boy', secretly delighted in having enraged Scarlett to the point where he resorted to violence – in truth Robin could not recall Scarlett ever having engaged in any kind of violence since he, Azeem and Duncan had arrived in the camp. Another part of him was also pleased that his words had had so much effect on the man, one hardly attempted murder on every Tom, Dick or Harry that insulted their pride so it showed that Scarlett must have accepted him on some level as the leader of the group. However, the emotion that overpowered all others was fury. His comment had admittedly been harsh and meant to humiliate Scarlett and single himself out as better than him but the sort of man that would attack a man from behind with no better cause than hurt pride…Scarlett's actions only served to prove Robin's point. He was a coward and he hadn't even the courage as to allow his opponent a chance to defend himself. Robin was surprised to find that he was actually a little disappointed by Scarlett's actions, he knew the man hated him but to make such a blatant attempt on his life with so little (comparatively) provocation…

A small part of him felt sickened as he saw the boy clutch his wounded hand to his chest and run off away from the group and while Robin was not sorry for it, but he did realise there may have been better ways to avoid being stabbed. In truth, he hadn't even known what Wulf was warning him about except that it was something to do with Scarlett. Nevertheless, his casual thank you to the child was sincere. John had mentioned to him that Wulf and Scarlett had been very close so the fact that he had chosen to side with Robin over his friend only convinced Robin further that he had been right to do what he had done so far.

He took his opportunity. Having seen such an obvious display of not only his prowess as an archer but also his dominance as a leader, the remaining crowd stood murmuring to each other approvingly. Climbing on top the fallen tree he had been sat upon, Robin made his speech to _his_ people.

* * *

He shot him! Robin actually shot Will! Maybe he had deserved it, Wulf wasn't sure. Everything was confused now. On the one hand, he had known Will his entire life. He let Wulf follow him around sometimes and when he shouted at him, it wasn't like when he shouted at other people. But on the other hand, Will had actually tried to kill Robin. Will hated Robin, that was no secret, but he was only trying to help! It was no life living out here in the forest, Will had told him so himself. "_Wulf_," he had said, "_Wulf, this is no life. Living out here, like hunted animals. It's…it's no life."_ (1) So Wulf knew that Will wanted to go back to their old life as much as anyone and Robin was going to make that happen. He knew it!

Even so, Wulf wasn't sure how he felt about Robin ruffling his hair…that was something Will and his father did sometimes. He wouldn't have minded all that much but Robin had just shot Wulf's best friend! Except he didn't think Will was his best friend anymore. Even if Will forgave him for warning Robin, Wulf would never forgive will for trying to kill Robin. Robin was nice. Wulf _liked _Robin. He saved his life _and_ beat off Gisbourne and his men! Will had barely gotten away when they ran into one soldier let alone five. And Robin had promised to give him archery lessons, he could shoot but Robin could _shoot_!

And it can't have been that bad, what Robin had done because even if it meant their home was destroyed, at least they were all together now. He'd missed his mother and sisters and so had his Father so Wulf didn't think it was that bad. Life in the forest was 'no life' but it wasn't all bad either - he knew because Father and Will had both told him so even though they both said it was bad as well, they were free too. Most of the time, if John said they were free then Will said it was awful and if John said it was awful, Will said it was great. Except Wulf wasn't going to listen to Will anymore. Robin wanted to help; he wanted to make it so that they could go home. All of them. All Will did now was sulk, scowl, and fight with everyone. He'd even heard his Father threaten to wallop Will if he didn't stop.

Maybe he shouldn't have warned Robin. Wulf was fairly certain it was the right thing to do but he hadn't expected Robin to turn around and shoot! He thought he would duck or get out the way, maybe even punch Will but he truly hadn't expected Will to get hurt…not that he cared that Will had gotten hurt, that was his own fault…

Everyone had started to go about their business now, Robin had wandered away to talk to Wulf's parents and Azeem was nowhere in sight. Wulf sighed. Normally, when everything was quiet, he'd go and talk to Will but he was not doing that. He could go and play with some of the other children (now that there were some) but most of them were asleep or injured in some way…maybe Robin's plan hadn't been the best plan after all if people had gotten injured. His siblings were all gathered around their parents and Robin but Wulf wasn't sure he wanted to join them either with Robin there.

Maybe he'd go and find Azeem after all.

**A/N: Erm, final part of the note (I promise) is that while I was writing this chapter, I kind of got the inspiration to do a couple of short, related one-shots that wouldn't fit into this story but are kind of referenced in it i.e. (1) where Wulf and Will are talking about life in the woods. The other one I wondered about was Will tending to his hand and possibly with Azeem going to speak to him…not sure whether it's plausible but I've seen quite a few where Fanny does it and I think, to me, it is something that Azeem might do. Anyway, what I'd like to know is whether anyone out there would be interested in reading pieces along those lines? If anyone would, then please review or even send me a PM. I might even put a poll up on my page about it…but please review/PM me anyway if you would be interested (even just a 'yes' or 'no'!)**

**As always, please please please review because I haven't written in ages and all I've done for so long is university work so it would be nice to hear what people think even if it's criticism (in fact much as I'd love everyone to say this is brilliant, I'd also be as happy if not more if people added a constructive criticism point to it, don't have to though I'm just saying!)**


	6. Fanny 1194

_**Disclaimer: really? Okay fine, it's not mine.**_

**A/N: "What's this?" I hear you say. Or perhaps the voices in my head are becoming too loud again…but yes, dear readers, there is not only a brand new story up on my page today, there is even a new chapter to this one! The story does however remain on hiatus, I'm on a RH roll at the moment but I'm not expecting it to last :/ This is set the day Fanny and all the others come into camp, sort of just after Will gets shot through the hand *shakes fist at Robin***

**As always please enjoy and review - whether you liked it or not. **

Seven children and a lifetime's hard toil, now they would be reduced to living as outlaws. In her mind's eye, she kept returning to the day she had returned home from the fields to find a notice upon her cottage door. She didn't need to be able to read to know what it said. John had left before the sun had set. In the months that followed, she found herself wondering if she could ever have had a different life or if it was truly God's plan for her to spend her days hungry, cold and surrounded by children that never stopped crying for their father. Part of her wanted to blame her husband; he hadn't provided enough, hadn't worked hard enough, hadn't _been_ enough. If he had only put in more hours on the land, or if he had chosen a better trade perhaps they could still be in their little cottage – overcrowded and still poor but in a home and not some shack that like as not would collapse in the wake of the slightest storm.

She understood however, that it was not John's fault. It was only a matter of time, from the first man who was dragged away by soldiers for 'tax evasion', before her husband and that of all whom she knew would be driven out or else arrested. It was in some small part, a relief when John left. He was no longer at risk of being ripped from his bed and set upon in the street by soldiers as other men had been. It was near impossible however, to see their village – their home – as little more than a reminder that wherever her husband was, he was not at her side as he should have been. There was the meadow behind John's cottage where he had picked flowers for her as a brash boy of fifteen who stammered as he held out his wilted offering. The house that she had grown up in, where her father had, on his deathbed, given John his blessing to wed Fanny despite having long since told her he could think of no better man for her. Also in her Father's house, the bed where their first, ill-fated babe was conceived on their wedding night nearly four years years before Wulf was born. Everywhere she went, reminders of happier times where there was food on the table and a husband in her bed. She had despised them after John had gone, now she realised she may never see those places again. It made her desperately unhappy.

She thought back to when they had arrived in the camp, how happy she had been to see John. _Her John. _And Wulf – her little boy alive and looking no worse for wear than his siblings, she had hardly dared to hope for as much! She had felt John's eyes on her as she sought the final figure, she knew she should be satisfied – her husband AND her son, alive! – but there was still a part of her that prayed she'd see him. Finally, John had gestured one paw-like hand and she had seen him. She had wanted to weep and thank the Lord and hold her all loved ones to her but now it seemed her loved ones were splintering.

She had heard the stories of Robin of the Hood, of course. Every village in the county had some tale of his exploits – he was to be admired, she was sure, but any good opinion she had of him was shattered the moment he had accused Will Scarlett of being a coward. Deep inside of her, she could neither dislike nor distrust this man – her husband seemed to have conceded his role as leader to Robin and he clearly liked the man; that was good enough for her. But not _disliking_ him did not mean she liked him, besides which, calling a man a coward was one thing but deliberately wounding him in front of so many others was something else. True, she had been shocked and appalled that Will would go so low as to attack from behind without engaging the other man in a fight but surely – ? She could not, in all honesty, think that Robin had overreacted. He had reacted to an unknown foe based solely on Wulf's warning, had it been John, he would likely have attacked with just as much ferocity. And, she conceded to herself, Will's actions had been out of vanity and hurt-pride, nothing more. Robin had called him a coward and he was trying to prove it was not true…or perhaps he simply wanted revenge and damn his image.

Had Robin not wounded him and were the boy perhaps three years younger, she would have thrashed him soundly for his actions. As it was, the pain and humiliation of it all would be punishment enough for Will. Had Robin been uncaring or even proud of what he had done, she would have found it far easier to hate the man for what he had done; as it was, he thus far seemed regretful to the point of true concern, which was more than could be said for her husband.

She could stay angry with John until the Rapture. She would do, if he didn't hurry up and apologise for being so cruel – really! She knew John and Will had their disagreements but they had known each other since Will was a babe! She thought of Will and his poor dead mother and of the nights when he would appear at their door, silent except for hiccupping sobs that wracked his tiny frame. John would scowl and stomp about for the rest of the night, muttering about _noble__man_ _husbands_ and demanding of her which of their children she would allow to go hungry before Anne Scarlett's boy did. Then she thought of the nights when John would go to bed and to work the next morning empty-bellied because for all his frowning and harsh words, that boy had never shown up on their doorstep and not been fed.

She fell to the bedroll the that night exhausted and wanting only sleep for a hundred years, when John joined her. Her ill-will towards him had waned and it had been so long since she had last been able to look into his eyes and feel his strong arms around her and suddenly she knew that she would live anywhere, do anything and disregard a thousand wrongdoings if she could just stay by his side. To the end.


End file.
